


Sure Don't Make Them Like You Anymore

by nobetterlove



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Author Hannibal Lecter, Awesome Alana Bloom, Bottom Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter Has a Crush, Hannibal Lecter is Not a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is an Author, M/M, POV Hannibal Lecter, Photographer Will Graham, Shameless Smut, Smut, Top Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham is a Photographer, Will Graham is a Tease, let's call this subliminal grayness on both of their accounts, use of text messages to further the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:35:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobetterlove/pseuds/nobetterlove
Summary: Hannibal Lecter is a horror writer that has spent his entire career almost completely anonymous. That all changes when the first installment of his Chesapeake Ripper series does so well the hype is insanely real. His publishers push so hard for a photo on the book cover that Hannibal has to give in. Alana, in her manager glory, finds the best portrait photographer in the business - Will Graham. Check out what happens when sparks fly and beautiful photos spark an astronomical level of interest.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 128





	Sure Don't Make Them Like You Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Okay friends - this is entirely indulgent. I saw the photos Mads did for the WSJ article & couldn't put the idea to bed until I got this thing written out. 
> 
> I absolutely abused the use of text messages in this thing, so I hope you don't mind. As usual, my song based creativity was driven by the song Overnight Sensation by Borns - check it out, regardless of whether you do it while you read or not. It's one of my favs!

Finally finding the slightest bit of inspiration, Hannibal pressed the tips of his fingers against laptop keys in an attempt to get the idea down before his brain flushed it. Frustratingly, he lost many plots recently because they simply failed to take root. For what felt like days, Hannibal sat at his computer, contemplating multiple plot bunnies and a brief career change when nothing usable came to him. The burnout after completing a novel was real, and striking Hannibal much harder than it usually did. 

Which is why he let out a harsh huff when his phone rang on the desk next to him; the shrill sound of his ringtone broke all of his concentration – the last few hours of pointless sitting and thinking down the drain and better left for another day. Rolling his eyes at the drama of it all, Hannibal hastily swiped his thumb across the front of his phone, catching Alana’s name as the caller before he grumpily answered. 

“Hello, Alana.” 

“Hannibal – I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time. I’ve got some news,” Alana replied, the cheer in her voice grating along his already sensitive nerves. At least the news was more than likely good – she couldn’t carry that same tune when presenting something bad to him. After years of being his manager, Hannibal had a rhythm with Alana, and could read her relatively well. 

“Oh joy. News usually means more work for me,” Hannibal remarked with a smirk, despite the fact that Alana couldn’t see him. He heard her light laugh on the other side of the line and lightened up a little – Hannibal knew the words would come and fretting about it would do more harm than good. Frustration was merely easy to cling to – the excuse of such a base emotion made his lack of motivation less personal in a way. “Now is as good a time as any. What do you have for me?” 

“The only work you have to do is sit still and look pretty,” Alana started, her tone shifting slightly. When Hannibal heard it, his stomach clenched – there was only one thing that would require that. “And before you start arguing with me, know that this is coming from people way over my head.” 

Hannibal pulled in a large, audible breath, knowing that in all of her intelligence, Alana would pick up his displeasure. Since he first published with Crawford & Co. publishing, Hannibal held fast to his anonymity. In the beginning, they printed his name and profile on the book jacket but kept his face far from it. The words he wrote were enough to sell the stories without the glitz and glamour of a press circus and revealing to the world who he truly was. So many parts of himself existed within his adventures. Putting a face to them was just too much. 

Recently, however, Hannibal started to lose his grip on that control. His latest series, The Chesapeake Ripper, was getting big – talk shows, large book tours, and possible movie rights big. More notoriety meant that Crawford and his execs wanted to give the world more of Hannibal; regardless of his feelings about it. 

It started with emailed interviews about his writing process, and then long podcast talks with obscure literary buffs. Each little thing only increased the thirst and in turn, had Jack pushing for more. And for the most part, Hannibal went through the motions willingly. Some of the conversations he took part in were educated and thought provoking, even. Where his feet started to drag in the sand, however, was the in-person stuff and photo opportunities that were increasingly being pushed upon him. In all of his personal vanity, Hannibal never once yearned to share it with others; especially not the millions of bloodthirsty fans just waiting to pounce. 

He managed to abate the demands for a while, but it looked like his avoidance of the subject was finally coming to an end. “These things usually do,” Hannibal finally said, aware that his pause in the conversation was well past polite. “Did you at least book a decent photographer?” 

His question must’ve baffled Alana slightly, because she spluttered out a high-pitched gasp. “You’re not going to fight me on this? I expected to have to drag you by your thumbnails.” 

Smiling, despite himself, Hannibal fired back – “I’m not wearing anything that Jack Crawford has picked out, but I know when I’ve been bested. It is probably better to finally give in before I’m kidnapped and thrown in front of a camera completely against my will in some catastrophic outfit.” 

“No issues there – the photographer, Will Graham, he had a few ideas that you’re really going to like.” She stopped for a second, the sound of papers flipping on her side of the line filling in the silence. “You’ll also be pleased to know that he’s a huge fan of your earliest works.”

Intrigued now, Hannibal let his phone rest between his shoulder and neck, freeing up his hands. Still sitting at his desk, he pulled up an internet browser and quickly typed in ‘Will Graham – photographer’. He thought he might stumble across an Instagram account or website, but what he was met with made his jaw drop. Washington Post and Wall Street Journal articles with his photos sat at the top, followed by Vogue and National Geographic spreads. Dozens more followed as Hannibal scrolled.

Whoever this man was, he took gorgeous photos – and the world noticed. 

Clicking a little further down the rabbit hole, Hannibal found high profile actors, writers, and musicians that existed within this Will Graham’s portfolio. The photos were unique, like the photographer never repeated himself in his work. Both dramatic and understated, Will’s work projected a sort of essence that spoke loudly. Hannibal couldn’t pinpoint what exactly the essence was, but he liked it – and wouldn’t mind exploring it more, even if that meant sitting for portraits and putting his face on display. 

“This just might be interesting after all. You know as well as I do that Rising is my favorite work,” Hannibal stated, shaking himself from his searching thoughts.

“I do know that – which is why I’m finally presenting this to you. I vetted several photographers, and no one fit the bill until Will walked through the door. He’s shot some high-profile celebrities and done several beautiful humanitarian projects. From our conversations, it looks as if he’ll provide you with the best experience – especially for your first time in front of the camera.” 

Alana explained a few more details, talking the photographer up some more while regaling dates and times for photo drops and book jacket reveals. By the time she stopped for breath, Hannibal felt overwhelmed. None of that stuff was in his orbit, let alone something he cared to listen to and know about. Closing his laptop, Hannibal thought to fish for the last bit of information that pertained to him. 

“When do you need me? In all of this back and forth, you have neglected that little detail.” His voice sounded short, but the stress of the call made him crave his kitchen and the comforting feeling of preparing himself a meal. If it weren’t for his meticulous workout regimen, Hannibal would be fat from all the emotional eating. He loved Alana (in as platonically of a way as another person could, of course), but hated her job and the position it always put him in. 

“You always know how to cut down to the chase, Hannibal,” Alana uttered, exasperation heavy in her voice. “The shoot is tomorrow. Will owns a small studio in downtown Baltimore. An email with the address and pre-shoot information should be in your inbox.” 

“Lovely. Take care, Alana.” Hannibal laid down his dismissal, then hung up the phone before Alana had a chance to respond and keep him on the phone longer than she managed already. He feared that if he allowed Alana anymore time of his day, she might drop more things on his lap. This big brick of a thing was already too much. 

Just barely biting back a groan, Hannibal got up from his chair and started toward the kitchen, his mind already going through his recipe cards. The last-minute nature of his particular brand of torture called for something filled with fat and comfort. Settling on a rich stew, Hannibal gathered his ingredients and set to it. 

Bright and early the next morning, Hannibal was stuffed into a makeup chair by a small Asian woman who introduced herself as “just call me Bev.” Crinkling his nose at all the unrecognizable products he saw before him, Hannibal was pleasantly surprised when none of it graced his face. Instead, she merely touched up a couple of spots that would shoot bright and fleshy on the camera and left it at that. Between the casual dark-wash jeans and plain black of his shirt and jacket, Hannibal wasn’t actually dreading the experience. So far, the Will Graham treatment didn’t seem so bad. 

As it went, Hannibal didn’t actually meet the notorious Will Graham until five minutes before they were set to shoot. From the second he walked in the door, Hannibal was rushed around from one place to the other – staring at a lighting check, over to wardrobe, and then to makeup; it wasn’t surprising that they hadn’t crossed paths. 

In fact, Hannibal wasn’t even aware he was standing in front of Will until the man’s thin frame was directly in his vision, an unreadable look on his face. A deep, slightly shaky voice came out of nowhere, drawing Hannibal’s attention. 

“Hannibal Lecter, right? I’m Will Graham. It’s cool to meet you. I started reading your stuff long before I picked up a camera – so this is kind of a huge moment for me,” Will started in a way of greeting. His hands were fiddling with the expensive camera around his neck, the wear spots obvious in the high-quality lighting around them.

Upon realizing who he was talking to, Hannibal stood up a little straighter, his eyes widening at the unsolicited compliments. In the presence of someone that held much more fame than he did, Hannibal almost felt silly accepting them. “It’s a pleasure, Will. Alana speaks very highly of you,” Hannibal dipped his head as he spoke, nervousness and pressure driving him towards self-consciousness. “Try not to hype it up too much. I’m not the most natural in front of the camera.” Hannibal flashed him a pinched smile, the lights making maroon eyes shine. 

“That’s what everyone says. I’ll have you nice and loose before you know it,” Will remarked without waiting a beat. 

It was obvious in the way he carried himself that Will knew what he was doing – despite his discomfort, Hannibal didn’t doubt the photographer’s statement. On top of being aesthetically stunning, Will projected an air of neutrality that was hard to ignore. Like he understood Hannibal’s feelings and projected radio silence in return. It was nice – accommodating in all the right ways. 

“Then I shall trust your judgement,” Hannibal acquiesced, folding both of his arms behind his back. The position was his “defensive” stance, one he took up many years ago when showing discomfort in any way at all wasn’t beneficial. By standing tall and removing his arms from the picture, Hannibal kept his anxious hands out of play. Despite no longer needing to posture and hide behind his mechanisms, he defaulted to them, anyway. 

Will gave him a brief once over before nodding his head – the smallest of smiles on his face. “I like the way you think. Let me get my camera set up with the settings where they need to be and kick out the crowd, then we’ll get started.” 

With renewed interest, Hannibal watched Will go through the motions of spot checking the background, the man fiddling with his settings and making adjustments as he went. Each picture he took popped up on the computer at the edge of the lighting, Will’s blue eyes flitted back and forth between it and his camera before seeming satisfied. After making sure everything was where he wanted it, Will had a few hushed conversations; one by one, everyone but Will and Hannibal made their way out of the room. 

Suddenly quiet, the space felt easier to breath in. Hannibal pulled in a slow, deep breath, letting the lack of noise and conflicting smells calm him. He loosened the grip of his hands, letting both arms fall slackly to his sides. When Hannibal opened his eyes, Will was looking at him with a curious expression, his beautiful blue eyes watching Hannibal. 

“I thought that might make you feel a little more comfortable. It’s hard to open up when so many eyes are on you,” Will reasoned, finally breaking eye contact as he spoke. In the next moment, instead of directing Hannibal verbally, Will stepped onto the backdrop. The shiny lights highlighted his curls delectably, and for a second, Hannibal forgot what he was there for. A quick throat clearing brought him back, however – Will looked up at him from his new position on the ground. “Why don’t we start here?” 

Hannibal and Will traded places with ease – the pose was simple to replicate and when Will started to click, Hannibal almost didn’t notice. He was prompted to look forward and down to the side, to move his leg straight and his arm across his knee; but never to smile or force a facial expression. As the shoot progressed and Hannibal defrosted some, enjoyment started to encompass the sense of duty that started this whole thing. Will kept up idle chatter here and there but didn’t demand it – or Hannibal’s attention at all, really. 

They were three outfits and a few position changes into everything before Hannibal piped up, asking a few questions of his own. “What got you into photography, Will?” The man’s natural ability shone through with every click and called out direction – there was no shying away from that. Yet, Will projected a different sort of energy, too. Hannibal got the feeling that shooting celebrities wasn’t his initial end goal. 

Will took a few minutes to answer, obviously caught up in the process and the excellence of the lighting in the position Hannibal was in. He snapped and prompted a few more times before stepping back from the camera, turning to look at Hannibal fully. “I studied forensics in college and had huge plans to solve crimes and take down bad guys. During my senior year, I took a photography class as an elective and realized two things: I had an amazingly artistic eye and being a police officer was never going to be for me. I spent a couple of years after graduation doing some crime scene photography to pay the bills while I went after what I truly wanted during my free time. I lucked into a trip to Uganda for a humanitarian thing and the rest is kind of history.” Will spoke freely, this story obviously one he sparknoted often. 

“What made you realize police work was not for you? I’ve seen your photos and they are clearly superior; but that’s quite the jump.” Hannibal wasn’t sure what made him pose the question, yet he knew it was the right one to ask. 

“I did a ride along with a local officer for a project, trying to kill two birds with one stone, you know? It was supposed to be a typically slow night where I could ask questions and take the pictures I needed. By the end of the night, I was scarred for life with a whole roll of crime scene photos in my camera, instead,” Will answered, an obvious look of reminiscence on his face. His eyes were glassy for a second, the photographer far away.

“What happened?” Hannibal asked, his obvious interest pulling an odd laughter from Will, who was now standing in front of him. The photographer turned and picked up his camera from the stand, slinging it around his neck. The man’s need for tactile distraction was something Hannibal noticed from the get-go. His fingers played with the buttons while he composed himself, the laughs falling from his lips calming down some. 

“The officer I was with got called to a crime scene in hopes of providing backup and walked into a massacre. Two other officers were dead, along with the killer’s wife and daughter. I don’t think I was in any real danger by the time the guy noticed me, but I’ll never forget the look in his eye. He blew his own head off a few seconds later.” He stopped then, sucking in a deep breath. “Sorry. Kind of macabre stuff for a photoshoot.” 

“It’s almost perfect, though – considering the novel that these are advertising for,” Hannibal rebutted, his interest completely peeked. There was much more to Will Graham then the man behind the lens, that much was for sure. “I experienced something similar in nature. The trauma of it played a huge part in my decision to become a writer.” 

Will quirked a brow, his eyebrows pinching together in a curious look. “Don’t tell me that the plot of Rising is your backstory?” Will uttered without thought, the divot of his forehead deepening a little. 

“Sadly, most of the major plot points were my family’s woes. Where the villains in the book went on living for years to come, my tormentors did not. Every last one of them died from influenza right in front of me before I was found half-dead myself.” 

After years of keeping it under the belt, Hannibal felt satisfied sharing that piece of information with somebody. There were many moments of time where Alana seemed on the verge of asking him about the connection, but she never pulled the trigger; not like Hannibal would have shared, anyway. 

For some reason, Will felt like a beacon – someone that called out as an entity that saw, understood, absorbed, but didn’t and wouldn’t judge. 

“That’s intense,” Will noted, blushing at the brashness. “Also incredibly telling. Knowing that brings a whole new dimension to the story. Hunting them down, finding each one – that must have been a catharsis for you.” He looked genuinely fascinated, Will’s obvious knowledge of the books was spot on and deeply philosophical – like he too used the adventures of Thomas to heal hideous wounds. 

The conversation fizzled after that, but Hannibal’s comfort did not. He found himself leaning more fully into the poses and when they were done and Will showed him a few of his favorite shots, Hannibal felt good – good about the way he looked and the mode of his entrance into the public’s eye. At least his introduction would come in a gorgeous form. 

Before Will had the chance to get away when they were done, Hannibal handed over a business card, their fingers brushing in the exchange. “I’m surprised to say that I enjoyed this,” Hannibal began, the tips of his cheeks coloring slightly. “If you ever have questions or need a model – I would be happy to entertain the idea.” 

Nodding thoughtfully, Will pocketed Hannibal’s card with care. He kept his hand in that pocket until the urge overruled him – Will thrust that same hand into the space that existed between them. Hannibal took it, gripping Will’s palm with ease. “It was nice working with you, Hannibal. You’re more of a natural than you think.” 

Later, when the loud shrill of his phone went off, Hannibal hoped for a second that it might be Will – they shared a moment during their session, and he wanted to explore it. Not knowing much about the real Will Graham fueled the fire, making it hard to concentrate. He could further research the enigma of a man, but what good would that truly do? Being on the same side of the press barrier made it easy to understand that gossip mongers clung to anything, and most of what the public saw, read, and claimed as truth was so far from it. He satiated the need by pulling up his own Instagram account and following the notorious @willgrahamphotography and accepting the follow request Will sent his way.

A small sense of disappointment washed over him when he realized it was just Alana again, probably calling to see how the photo shoot went. Hannibal thought about ignoring it, letting the call ring and ring until it went to voicemail – he knew better, though. Alana got to where she was through pure tenacity and sharp intelligence; there was no chance of peace if he didn’t answer. Gathering himself, Hannibal answered the call and attempted to take no further notice of his previous despondency.

\---- 

For a few days after the shoot, Hannibal distractedly tried to write. With the second installment of his Chesapeake Ripper series set to hit the shelves in less than twenty-four hours, Hannibal felt the same tension he always did before a book release. When he was younger and half the fun of writing came from the public’s reaction, Hannibal fed off the addictive feeling. At this point in his life, however, Hannibal merely felt anxious. He knew that the stakes were higher, and the demand was more – his works weren’t just the purging of his innermost wants and thoughts any longer. The public had a firm grip on them now. 

In all of his attempts, Hannibal had more derogatory messages to himself and his ever-fleeting creativity than actual ideas and words towards a story. When noticing the catastrophe of it all couldn’t be put off any longer, he slammed the top of his laptop shut and stuffed it into its case on the desk. The mere thought of having the damn thing in his sight made his skin crawl. 

Running both hands through his hair, Hannibal thought about giving up for the day and fetching a large glass of wine when his phone vibrated with a text message alert. Alana usually called and when he dealt with Jack, they mostly battled it out over email. Intrigued by the rarity of it, Hannibal shoved his frustration away in favor of checking his phone. Though he deserved a long sulk and a kitchen therapy session, Hannibal wasn’t above the call of curiosity. 

Will Graham [7:43PM]: Hi, this is Will Graham. I just got a peek of the book cover – have you seen it, yet?

Despite himself, Hannibal felt his lips quirk, the edges pinching slightly in his version of a smile. It shouldn’t be so easy to lift him up, yet Hannibal felt his mood shift, anyway. They presented him with the final cut of the novel the previous day and it was stunning. The binding was black, its jacket inky and crisp, accented well with a black and white photo of him in profile on the inside cover. The choice to use one with half his face in a shadow was purposeful, probably suggested by the photographer himself. Regardless of his feelings on actually stepping so openly into the public eye, Hannibal appreciated the aesthetic of it – the creative vision did his character justice. 

Hannibal Lecter [7:47PM]: Good evening, Will. They showed me the final product yesterday – it’s remarkable.   
Hannibal Lecter [7:48PM]: Did you have a hand in the photo choice? 

Will Graham [7:52PM]: Remarkable – they sure don’t make them like you anymore, do they?  
Will Graham [7:52PM]: I did, actually. After our conversation, it seemed necessary that you were represented the correct way.  
Will Graham [7:53PM]: That photo also happens to be my personal favorite, but that’s secondary. 

Hannibal Lecter [7:55PM]: I’m a rare breed, Mr. Graham.   
Hannibal Lecter [7:56PM]: That was kind of you – is that part of your service as a photographer?  
Hannibal Lecter: [7:56PM]: You outdid yourself with them all, I’m sure picking a favorite is always thought provoking.

Will Graham [8:01PM]: Of that I have no doubt.  
Will Graham [8:02PM]: Yes, I think is the answer to that. My job is to create art with living, breathing human beings as my composition. It would be remiss of me to neglect the vision of my work once it’s no longer only in my hands.   
Will Graham [8:03PM]: You seem like someone that controls their narrative for a reason – I can understand the desire.   
Will Graham [8:03PM]: It certainly takes more brain bytes than you’d imagine. I knew immediately with this roll, though. It was the first shot I took. 

Hannibal Lecter [8:11PM]: I suppose we never stop being those exposed humans, do we? No matter how hard we try. It’s not often that people live with such a consciousness of the true definition of humanity, though. Has working with so many different people given you that perspective?  
Hannibal Lecter [8:12PM]: You become more intriguing by the minute. I can only assume that standing behind the camera allows you to feel that autonomy – creating a specific image is in your job description.   
Hannibal Lecter [8:14PM]: You certainly captured a specific sort of vulnerability – it’s lovely. 

Will Graham [8:18PM]: Sure – I strive to understand and be candid to get that same effect from the subject I’m working with. I’ve always been able to recognize emotions more deeply than others – having a peek behind the veil makes it hard not to be conscious of it.   
Will Graham [8:19PM]: I could say the same about you.   
Will Graham [8:20PM]: The camera stuff is only half the fun. Manipulating the image after the fact contributes to that feeling, too.  
Will Graham [8:20PM]: Thank you. Do you mind if I share a few with the social media masses? I have a feeling these are going to be very well received. 

Hannibal Lecter [8:30PM]: A peek behind the veil – how curious. I’m putting that in my notes. You may have just broken through my writer’s block.   
Hannibal Lecter [8:31PM]: I hear that’s where the real signature is, anyway. You do beautiful work in both aspects – well done.   
Hannibal Lecter [8:32PM]: By all means. They are your creations, after all. 

They continued to exchange messages back and forth for another few minutes before Will made his excuses. The photographer finished their conversation with a screenshot of his Instagram post. All of his photo choices were black and white, and the caption not only plugged the book but made mention to Hannibal’s earlier works. After bidding the man goodbye, Hannibal sat and obsessed over it for a few, self-indulgent minutes. He wasn’t sure why Will Graham affected him so – but there was no denying it. 

Deciding to capitalize on the creative idea that Will sparked within him during their conversation, Hannibal pulled his computer from its banishment and cracked it open, getting to work immediately. For the rest of the night, his fingers flew over the keys, running with his new source of inspiration. A certain sort of satisfaction ran through him with each word that appeared on the screen. It was like the wall he was chipping at for the past few weeks didn’t exist any longer. Like it hadn’t been plaguing him so desperately. 

Of his many thoughts on Will Graham, Hannibal never assumed inspiration would be one of them. 

When it became hard to keep his eyes open, Hannibal left himself a few notes for the next time he opened the document and pulled himself away from it. In his many years of writing, Hannibal understood the need to create distance between himself and a juicy idea. Entering into the darker headspace he used to write was costly. The thoughts he let run free had the power to overrun him; keeping himself from falling down that rabbit hole was paramount. His stories (and himself) were all the better for it. 

After stopping by the kitchen for a cup of chamomile tea, Hannibal went through the process of getting into bed. He took a brief shower, moisturized, and brushed his teeth with a meticulous efficiency. Walking back into the room with only his pajama bottoms on, he felt a renewed sort of energy. Although he was fatigued, the achievement of the day felt good – so good, in fact, Hannibal felt himself hardening as he slipped under the soft duvet. 

What an intriguing development.

Unable to make up a reason as to why he shouldn’t, Hannibal settled against his mattress more fully and let his hand trail down the center of his chest. His nipples were already peaked, the rosy buds hard as he circled them with his fingertips. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to imagine another set of hands on him – the curious fiddle of them against that expensive camera spoke of so many possibilities. His mouth opened with a soft moan when the intensity of the thought really dug in; Hannibal wanted Will to touch him, now more than anything. 

Impatiently, Hannibal pushed his pajama bottoms down, groaning delicately from the wrap of each individual finger around the newly exposed length. Brushing his thumb over the head, stickiness followed in its wake – the mere thought of his current fantasy made him wet with want. A part of him thought about feeling shame but he quickly brushed that aside when he recalled the look in Will’s eye. Hannibal wasn’t often mistaken, and sincerely hoped he wasn’t this time around, either. 

With the picture of Will’s hands in his head, Hannibal set a steady rhythm – the digits clenched tightly around him weren’t his own, but Will’s. The grip was perfect and with every upstroke, his wrist twisted just right. Hannibal leaked copiously when severely turned on, so the use of his own slick to ease the glide was a secret weapon. Every few strokes, a curious thumb trailed through the liquid expression of his excitement, adding to the slide. 

It didn’t take much once Hannibal decided to picture the way those talented fingers would feel over his balls and across his taint. His hand sped up and took him over the edge after a handful more pumps and a brief circle around his tightly clenched entrance. The combination of feelings drove him towards completion, the Will of his fantasy looking at him curiously as Hannibal fell apart from his touch. Though it smarted slightly to open his eyes and recall his solitude, he couldn’t remember the last time an orgasm felt that good. 

Hannibal took his time cleaning himself up, the aftermath of a good endorphin rush was kicking in, all of his limbs feeling heavier by the breath. No longer sticky (or wearing pants), Hannibal relaxed back into the California king and let the floaty excellence of pleasurable satisfaction overtake him. Somewhere in the tranquility of it all, sleep found him. 

The next morning, Hannibal woke up to a slew of social media notifications and a couple of texts from Will Graham. Seeing the man’s name brought his fantasy from the night before back to the front of his mind. In his sleep addled state, Hannibal let himself indulge on it, enjoying the pleasurable rush of heat his thoughts brought to the surface of his skin. He rubbed at his eyes to chase the tiredness away and opened his phone, holding his breath.

Will Graham [8:21AM]: It’s early, I know – sorry about that. But holy shit; I’ve never had a post blow up like this one did!  
Will Graham [8:21AM]: I tagged you in it, if you haven’t already, you’ll see the damage when you get up. 

Closing down his texts for a second, Hannibal clicked into Instagram to see hundreds of thousands of notifications – comments and likes for pictures of a faceless-man no more. His account was set to private, so friend requests galore sat in wait of his attention. Hannibal stared blankly at the screen for a few moments, trying without success to process it all. In his years of writing, Hannibal wasn’t a stranger to big numbers. He understood success yet couldn’t recall a time when it was so tangibly connected to him; and in the most personal way possible. 

Hannibal Lecter [8:30AM]: I’m not accustomed to this sort of thing.  
Hannibal Lecter [8:31AM]: Millions of people have seen my face now. And seem to like it. 

Will Graham [8:35AM]: Enjoy it. Your work deserves it. You deserve it.   
Will Graham [8:36AM]: Well, it is a handsome face. 

Hannibal Lecter [8:40AM]: I can only imagine what is happening with book sales. I suppose I’ll have to stop lazing about and see about my livelihood.   
Hannibal Lecter [8:41AM]: Kind of you to notice. A talented photographer I know managed to capture my good side. 

With a sigh, Hannibal turned his phone over to avoid temptation and got out of bed. The news of his reveal photos’ success meant he had about twenty minutes to himself before Alana or Jack demanded something from him. After his self-indulgence the night before, a shower was necessary to feel human. If things played out the way he thought they might, the day ahead was going to be a busy one. 

Like he figured, Alana was knocking at his door within the hour, a coffee and what looked like specs in her hand. She handed him the papers and her coat as she walked in the door, her face lit up with a smile all the while. “It’s good, Hannibal. The pre-order sales were decent, so we didn’t know what to expect. But this – it’s almost twice the first installment’s opening day in the first twelve hours of release. And – there’s been a huge boom on your earlier stuff, too,” she gushed, walking down the hall towards the kitchen out of habit. 

After hanging up Alana’s coat, Hannibal followed her through the door of the kitchen, walking around the counter to start the coffee machine. In his haste to answer the Alana’s knock, he didn’t go through any of his normal morning routines. For all of the chaos she brought, Alana remained quiet for the time it took for Hannibal to draw up a cup of coffee and make a couple pieces of toast with a strong orange marmalade coating them. In gratitude, Hannibal pushed a piece in her direction. 

After taking a couple of bites and letting the caffeine of his coffee settle in his system, Hannibal felt ready to talk – he eyed the specs while he collected himself, a bubble of excitement growing in his stomach with every page he turned. “I’ve never seen sales like this for any of my work,” Hannibal admitted, breaking the silence. He thought the mass quantity of attention the post got was impressive – these numbers, they were off the charts. A niggling feeling in the back of his head said his friend played a huge part in it all, but he kept that to himself. Alana wanted to see his patented confidence. 

“From the looks of it, all of your work is going to see this kind of attention. Whatever possessed Will Graham to plug Rising the way he did drew the right kind of attention. People are looking at your work with an entirely new eye now that they think they know you,” Alana returned, gripping her coffee cup more tightly with every word. “Do you think you have it in you to work with him again? Writer’s Digest wants to do an interview and requested a picture spread.” 

Just barely biting back on a satisfied smile, Hannibal took his time answering. He didn’t want to give too much away or agree too readily. Aside from the fact that Hannibal felt slightly obsessive towards the photographer and wanted to keep that to himself, he also didn’t want to make any sort of habit out of liking the publishing company’s ideas – that would truly strip him of any sort of control he still had. Taking a long sip of his coffee, Hannibal enjoyed the burn of it down his throat before speaking. 

“It certainly seems apropos to capitalize on the current moment’s interest. I could palate working with Mr. Graham to do so,” Hannibal answered, glancing over at Alana with a level look. She more than likely saw some sort of deeper meaning from his words but decided not to comment on it. Her eyes flashing was the only sign of understanding. Hannibal nodded at her, the silent conversation happening just as important as their shared words were. “What’s the deadline?” 

Taking his answer for what it was, Alana pulled her phone out, the calendar they discussed only two days ago all of the sudden twice as full. She took a second to look sheepish, shrugging lightly. “You said it – it’s important to take advantage of the public interest.” Her lips were pulled into a no-nonsense smirk before flattening when she found what she was looking for. “It looks like they’re trying to move quickly. Jack has the later part of this afternoon booked out for a session with Will Graham.” Alana looked at him, mischief in her eyes. “The location is a swanky, upscale hotel.” 

“Looks like that’s settled, then. Might I choose the outfit this time?” Hannibal asked, pushing past Alana’s ill-masked crudeness. Whatever she thought was going on, wasn’t – no matter how much Hannibal might wish it. At the time being, Will and Hannibal were good for each other professionally; a huge boom in his career wasn’t to be looked down upon. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking things ran a little deeper.

Only time would tell. 

“I don’t see why not. You have an extensive enough wardrobe to bring a few options,” Alana acquiesced, her fingers already moving over the surface of her phone to get the message out. 

For the next few minutes, Hannibal finished his breakfast and listened to Alana talk about the other small details of things coming up for him over the next couple of days. There were a few in-person interviews and a small book signing, but nothing compared to the easy moments he knew were just hours away. On any other day, he might’ve dreaded the way everyone knowing him, even just on the surface, made him feel so helplessly open. The rawness didn’t grate, however, not with something much more interesting to look forward to. 

They sat around and had another cup of coffee together while watching the numbers roll in before Hannibal started to feel antsy. Luckily, Alana got a call and dipped out, leaving Hannibal alone with his thoughts for the first time that morning. He took his fresh cup of liquid caffeine to his writing desk and slotted himself into the chair, letting out a breath Hannibal wasn’t aware he’d been holding. With all the stress of becoming something the public could easily swallow, he almost forgot what the whole point of it all was – the success of his writing. In the wake of his biggest hit yet, Hannibal forgot what it was like to actually enjoy the whole process; good fortune included. 

He sat in silence reveling in it for a little while; simply feeling the wood of the desk under his palms and the happiness that sat in his stomach was enough. The stress, hassle, and apprehension weren’t allowed to exist in those moments – he wouldn’t let them. For once, since the beginning of the writing process of the book just released, Hannibal genuinely wanted to feel joy in it. Allowing the rush to overtake him was intoxicating and necessary – without it, he might never move onto the next idea awaiting him. There was more to come, he could feel it in his veins. 

Pulling himself together, Hannibal finished off his coffee and thought to start writing. He was stopped, however, by his phone vibrating against his thigh. He fished it out of his pocket, smiling at the recent text notification from his favorite photographer. 

Will Graham [11:01AM]: I’m scouting out the room we’ll be in later – please bring something blue.   
Will Graham [11:02AM]: I’m going to change the bulbs to a different wattage and think something darker will shoot amazingly.   
Will Graham [11:03AM]: Also. I’m looking forward to shooting with you again. 

Hannibal read over the text messages a few times with a knowing smirk on his face. It seemed that Will opened up more and more as comfort developed. In the same way that Hannibal felt himself growing unrealistically attached by the second, Will subconsciously let himself get closer, too. In all of their exchanges over the last couple of days, Hannibal wondered if Will even realized how telling he let himself become. Whether the joint interest translated into a mutual desire was yet to be seen – the tangibility of endless possibilities existed, though; there was no doubting that. 

Hannibal Lecter [11:10AM]: Duly noted. You stuck to solid colors during our last shoot, should I do the same?  
Hannibal Lecter [11:11AM]: I find myself excited by the prospect, as well. You may never be rid of me now that we’ve found mutual success. 

Will Graham [11:14AM]: If you can. The carpet and furniture are heavily patterned – a solid color will allow you to stand out against a busier background.   
Will Graham [11:15AM]: You make that sound like a bad thing. 

Hannibal Lecter [11:17AM]: I’m impressed with your attention to detail. Solid colors it is.   
Hannibal Lecter [11:18AM]: I try not to make a habit of assuming one way or another. 

Will Graham [11:21AM]: It’s all part of the job description, my friend.   
Will Graham [11:22AM]: It’s not – a bad thing, I mean. Seeing you outside of a shoot wouldn’t be a hardship, either. If you ever find yourself interested. 

Hannibal Lecter [11:30AM]: Oh, I’m interested.   
Hannibal Lecter [11:31AM]: I look forward to seeing you later. 

He forced himself to put the phone down before things got any more interesting. Hannibal saw the potential for so much more before they were even in the same room and for all his want and desire, he thought seeing things through with Will deserved to be done in person. Instead of letting himself dwell on another delicious feeling of victory, Hannibal climbed the stairs to his bedroom to settle on an outfit for the afternoon. 

After some trial and error, where Hannibal realized he owned more patterned clothing than anything else, he found the perfect outfit. The jacket was a dark blue, the color solid even down to its stitching. Matching his sweater to the pants, Hannibal decided on black to really draw attention to the blue of his jacket. If Will’s description was to be believed, his outfit would stand out and contrast well with the background patterns and colors. By the time the whole thing was put together, Hannibal had just enough time to shower and get behind the wheel of his car to get to the Ivy Hotel. 

When he got there, Hannibal was immediately whisked away by “just call me Bev”, where she applied a touch more makeup – they were shooting with natural light and the highlight high on his cheeks would help. Hannibal relaxed into the chair and let her work. Now that he understood the true depth of Will’s skill and attention, he wasn’t worried. The people that helped make his visions a thing were handpicked, that much was obvious. Someone with such a reputation didn’t allow just anyone to handle the product. 

Will’s crew was much more efficient this time around – already knowing that their help wouldn’t be needed once the photo taking started, most of them were already out of the room by the time Hannibal stood in front of the photographer again. Will didn’t hesitate to smile at him this time around, the blue of his eyes a little darker in the more natural light. Hannibal wanted to reach out and touch, but stopped himself, returning Will’s smile with his own instead. 

“The directive from Writer’s Digest suggested an intimate interview with the author. Since you’re such a blank slate, I thought we might highlight that,” Will said, gesturing to the room they were standing in which was a lounge that attached to the bedroom off to the right and the hall leading to the door on the left. The furniture was moved to give way to the blankness of the wall. A chair took up a small amount of space and subtly stood out against the color behind it. “Take a seat and we’ll get started.” 

Sitting down, Hannibal settled in the chair, shifting until he felt comfortable. When he looked up, Will was already tucked behind his camera, the soft clicks of pictures being taken calming in the way they were once anxiety inducing. He kept himself relaxed, even going so far as to look straight at the camera, a soft of confidence rising in him with every new picture taken. 

Without the fancy set up like their first shoot, Will was free to walk around and come closer, which the photographer took advantage of over and over again. By the time Will actually prompted him to change poses, Hannibal forgot they were shooting pictures. The back and forth between them felt like a drawn-out tango towards an end goal both were impatient to realize. 

Though he kept his distance, Hannibal felt the tension dripping from Will whenever he got within reach. On top of being incredibly perceptive, Hannibal’s enhanced sense of smell gave way to reading emotions in a base and instinctual way. Will’s lust smelt spicy – like well treated aromatics that bloomed with intensity and heat. Knowing the scent of it now, Hannibal couldn’t ignore it – not when his own body reacted so delectably. 

“I finished up your book a few minutes before you got here,” Will said into the comfortable silence a little while later. The camera was slung around his neck, both of Will’s hands fiddling along the edges of it. “They gave me an advanced copy after you okayed the cover. I was just opening it up when I texted you last night.” 

Hannibal blinked a few times, bringing himself out of his mind palace and back into the room where Will was speaking – saying such interesting things that sounded so delightfully good. Shifting until they were facing one another, Hannibal caught Will’s eye and kept it. “And what did you think? I can only assume you did not hate it, since you brought it up,” Hannibal remarked, the edges of his eyes crinkling. He thought to take a deep breath when Will returned the look but stopped himself – showing weakness wasn’t the name of the game yet. 

His statement pulled a laugh from Will, the sound quickly becoming something Hannibal wished to hear over and over again. “That would be backwards, wouldn’t it?” Will asked, his chuckles tapering into a smile instead. “It might be my new favorite, actually. Now that I know you a little better, I could really feel the emotion in all of your words. The intriguing want that exists in your narrative is astounding, Hannibal.”

Tilting his head, Hannibal quirked his brow critically. When Will mentioned feeling emotion a little differently than others, Hannibal didn’t think too deeply about it. Some people were just more perceptive and could pick up on subtle nuances like himself. It seemed, however, that Will saw even further than that – the man’s vision created an entire picture, not just little snippets of it.

“It’s that palpable?” Hannibal questioned, the words coming out of his mouth without thinking. He disguised himself well – years of experience told him that. Yet, the man standing in front of him saw him so clearly, like the words were translucent, not wrapped around years and years of repression.

“If you know where to look,” Will replied easily. With a couple of expert moves, Will had his camera in its case on an otherwise empty table next to the pile of the rest of his equipment. Free to move now, Will shortened the distance between them until Hannibal merely needed to reach out to make contact. “The real reason I didn’t decide to go into police work wasn’t the carnage, but the way I felt about it. When that man looked at me, I immediately understood his reasoning. And when I looked him up a couple of days later, I found out that he killed several other girls that looked like his young daughter – it was a compulsion to put off the inevitable.” 

Will’s arms were crossed, his eyes soft. “Feeling what he felt, liking the way it settled into my pores – I yearned for more of it. When I realized how fucked up that was, I knew putting myself as far away from it as I could was the only way to save myself.” Will was even closer now, the curve of Hannibal’s legs in the chair the only thing really separating them. “Like you did with writing.” 

With the words now out in the open, Hannibal expected himself to shatter apart with rage or offense; but felt neither. Instead, he felt a sense of relief – the idea of being seen to the very core was scary, so frightening that he hid behind anonymity for years in fear of someone seeing the parts of him that fueled the fire within the pages of his stories. Funny, then, how easily Will broke through the barrier and saw every wrinkle in Hannibal’s design. And instead of being repulsed by a ruling darkness and its expression, Will appreciated it – within it, he found a part of himself that could so easily connect with those parts of Hannibal and flourish; no longer needing to hide in the shadow of his own making. 

“Someone wise once told me that writing was a form of self-expression. No one bats an eye when inappropriate thoughts manifest within the pages of a horror novel,” Hannibal said in confirmation, standing up while he spoke. He and Will were chest to chest now, no space existing between them with Hannibal’s latest move. Both hands itched to reach up and touch, but he stopped himself still. “Can you accept the truth of what you see?” 

Will smiled then, the genuine nature of it smoothing out the awkwardness of an expression not often used. In their close proximity, Hannibal could feel the huff of breaths Will took before speaking. “I already have,” Will replied, giving neither of them a further second to hesitate – he brought a hand up to grip the back of Hannibal’s neck, tilted his head, and pressed their lips together. His tactility was answer enough. 

Hannibal gave himself a second to enjoy the chaste touch – the delicate, barely there first caress of lip on lip was intoxicating and oh so easy to look past in the chase for more. Like all things with Will, Hannibal knew he wanted to savor and absorb. Whatever they were heading into with this crossing of all sorts of boundaries, Hannibal planned to enjoy every second of it. Life didn’t offer a guarantee, and he wasn’t searching for one. Will offered a time and a place and a perfect opportunity to see where both led. Overrun by the satisfaction of those thoughts, Hannibal finally let himself reach up and pull Will to him. 

The move was the right one, because Will deepened things considerably. Both arms wrapped themselves around Hannibal’s neck, Will’s fingers dug into the recently cut hairs at the back of Hannibal’s head. Each one slid into the confines of his hair and took hold, making it impossible for Hannibal to pull away, even if he wanted to. Hannibal answered the call of Will’s closeness by allowing himself to grip the photographer tightly by the hips. Their lower halves pressed together in a tight tangle of well-tailored pants and impressive erections. 

He might’ve stood there for hours, sipping from Will’s mouth both his delicate flavor and the tantalizing slide of their tongues together. The need for oxygen won out, however – Hannibal broke away with the smallest thrust of his hips against Will’s. His chest was heaving and when Hannibal let himself categorize each of his bodily feelings, he felt closer to the edge than he cared to admit. Looking up, Hannibal noticed the insatiably hungry look in Will’s eyes – the feeling was obviously reciprocated. 

“We have the room for the night,” Will admitted, those thought-provoking fingers finally making their way to Hannibal’s clothes. Pretty soon, he would finally know what they felt like against his bare skin. Will slipped his hand under the jacket on both sides of Hannibal’s shoulders, lifting until the blue fabric shifted and Hannibal shrugged to slip it down his arms. Wil’s hands followed the jacket’s path, tracing down biceps and elbows to forearms and wrists. The tip of a finger slipped under the hem of Hannibal’s sweater at the left wrist, the shock of bare skin on skin so sweet. Hannibal tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, panting lightly. 

“Let’s make proper use of it, then,” Hannibal muttered, his voice heavy with arousal and amazement. Will was a wonder, his seeking hands and never-ending attention like a beautiful collision that Hannibal couldn’t wait to be a victim of. He stepped out of Will’s grasp, hitching the black sweater over his head and turning in the direction of the bedroom, his invitation clear. The photographer’s soft steps were right behind him, following him instantly. 

Hannibal let out a moan when Will shut the door and pressed him back against it. Will’s hands explored the long lines of his chest, his eager hips rolled and pressed against Hannibal’s. Though they didn’t kiss, Will rested their cheeks together, each breath the other took shared between them in the gentle heaves of their chests and subtle sync they naturally fell into. Pleasure was insurmountable when Hannibal thought of the blur between where they differed from the other. Not able to think hard enough to find the spot, Hannibal gave himself over to the encompassing feeling of multiple stimulus firing on both sides of the line. 

The easy give and take continued as Will worked magic on Hannibal’s belt and pants – Will’s fingers were surprisingly calloused when they wrapped themselves impatiently around Hannibal’s length. Hannibal shifted the detail in his mind in an attempt to find tune Will’s rendering. The man before him was wild and calculating, personifying desperation and master manipulator in one magnificent package. He played Hannibal like a fiddle. The sound was masterful with every countering move Hannibal made. He quickly got Will disrobed so bare skin and heavy flesh could meet without barrier. The eye bulge he got in answer from Will felt like victory, the photographer’s cock flexing against his own a delicious prize. 

A hasty pace of overindulgence on both their parts had two grown men humping against each other less than five feet from a flat surface. It was delicious and just dirty enough to get swept away in – in another world, Hannibal would take the saucy grind and let patience be damned. He stopped himself, though, recalling his earlier thought of enjoyment. The call of hedonism rang loudly, but the self-indulgent visage of Will utterly taken apart won out – a professional photographer wasn’t the only creature in the world capable of making beauty. 

Pulling in a harsh breath, Hannibal grabbed Will tightly, forcing eye contact. “Get on the bed,” Hannibal demanded. His face was red with arousal, the length of his stomach sticky with sweat and slick from Will and Hannibal combined. It made his skin crawl to break the contact at all, but the thought of nakedness and lingering touch called to him. Will must have felt the same – he went without question, kicking out of the rest of his clothes without being told. He was a glorious vision on the large bed; his pale skin and red cheeks contrasted just right with the rich oak of the headboard. Grinning at the thought, Hannibal followed a step behind Will, revealing himself as he went. 

Will’s legs were spread, the call of the space too much for Hannibal to deny. He settled between the photographer’s strong thighs and sighed softly when they wrapped around him. “The next time I shoot you, I want you just like this. Looking down, curtained in shadow,” Will whispered, touching Hannibal’s cheeks with reverence. “The shadows suit you – mystery and intrigue wrap around you beautifully.” Blue eyes were wide, and lust blown, looking at him like glorious art. 

“Maybe you should try your hand at writing,” Hannibal replied softly, running his nose over Will’s with a feather of a touch. He let his lips linger just out of Will’s reach for a moment, giving in when his own patience snapped like a twig. The tip of his tongue traced Will’s plump lips, then pressed inside to be welcomed with a long moan and a return tangle. Will let him set the pace, their mouths hot against each other, moving on Hannibal’s time. 

When curiosity became too much, Hannibal pulled away. “Is there lube, or should I open you up with my mouth?”

A soft groan was his answer, Will’s hips raised and thrust against him. “Everything is on the nightstand.” Will kept his eyes closed, but his cheeks were bright red with a blush. 

“Wishful thinking?” Hannibal questioned, shifting just enough to grab what he needed. His body felt unwilling to detach from Will’s more than necessary – especially now that he knew what Will’s skin felt like against his own. 

“Something like that,” Will panted out, his skin pebbling under Hannibal’s hand. While Will dealt with his embarrassment, Hannibal let his hands trail everywhere he could reach. He traced Will’s nipples, paying special attention when Will pressed into them eagerly. Both were red when he pulled away, each delightful peak like a call sign of Hannibal’s presence. 

His fingers trailed down Will’s surprisingly hairless chest, the only real hairy thickness marring the smooth skin a delightful trail that led to a hard length surrounded by weepy, soft skin. Hannibal wrapped his hand lightly around Will’s erection just because he could – the feel of it in his hand something he planned to learn like it was his own in the time to come. 

Will thrust up into his grip and moaned loudly when Hannibal hastily let go a second later. The sound was harshly cut off when Hannibal’s fingers traced down along his balls instead. His hole clenched around Hannibal’s searching touch – Will’s tactile breakdown a true sight to behold.

Impatience had him uncapping the lube and hastily applying it over a couple of his fingers. Hannibal used those two fingers to trace Will’s rim. “You’re so tight,” Hannibal whispered in awe, the tips of both his fingers pressing in while he spoke.

Tossing his head back, Will nodded thoughtlessly. “It’s been a while,” Will admitted, getting himself together enough to look Hannibal in the eye. “I want you.” He said it like reassurance, like every grind of his hips and desperate thrust in Hannibal’s direction didn’t say so already. Hannibal took it for what it was, anyway – Will’s surrender to himself and Hannibal was a true sight to behold. 

Hannibal gave them both time to adjust to the intrusion – first two and then three fingers steadily worked Will open. In selfish distraction, Hannibal let his lips trail over Will’s skin, sucking and kissing what he could easily reach. There were red marks everywhere, the sharp contrast of the blush against Will’s skin so enticingly beautiful. Hannibal teased and stretched until he couldn’t stand it – his cock ached with desperation by the time he pulled his fingers out and rolled a condom over himself.

Eager fingers opened the tube of lube and slathered lots of it over Hannibal’s length – Will stroked him tightly, the touch deliberate and teasing. If he wasn’t already so close, Hannibal would give him the equality of the teasing gesture – but he couldn’t risk it. Every stroke over the sensitive flesh felt like a sharp knife to the gut of his self-control. Reaching down, Hannibal grabbed Will’s wrist, stopping the motion. “Enough.” 

Will smiled up at him, his blue eyes filled with mischief and heat. Before Hannibal could say anything further, Will flipped over onto his stomach, the photographer’s slim ass in the air in no time. With his elbows under him, Will looked over his shoulder, the saucy look he sent Hannibal absolutely sinful. He spoke volumes without having to say a single thing. 

Without wasting a second, Hannibal settled between Will’s spread legs, his lube covered hand guiding the tip of his cock to Will’s waiting entrance while the other gripped his slim hip. There were bound to be bruises on the pale skin later – Hannibal wasn’t be conscious with his touch. He simply enjoyed the leverage and used his tight grip to pull Will onto him as his hips thrust forward and Hannibal slid into Will inch by glorious inch. With one smooth thrust, they were joined, settled together from the inside out. 

“Fuck,” Will groaned, his frisky hand from earlier reaching back to grip Hannibal’s hip in an antsy clench. His muscles were firing around Hannibal’s length, the rhythmic pulsing so hard not to thrust into. The small grip he held over his control let Hannibal give Will a second, however; the tight muscle loosened around him and suddenly, Will’s hold became pleasurable instead of unbelievably tight. The roll of Will’s hips told Hannibal Will felt the same way – so, he thrust forward unapologetically. 

The first few thrusts were exploratory. He felt Will still adjusting to him and it took a couple of tries to find the perfect angle. With his body draped over Will’s, Hannibal could press against the man’s prostate and cover almost every inch of the other’s skin. His cock was hard and warm, wrapped so tightly in Will’s heat and the steadily increasing need that was rising up in them both. Wil’s hands were desperately clutching him and a litany of ‘oh fucks’ and ‘harder Hannibal’ filled the room. 

Unable to fight his own body’s reaction to Will’s plea, Hannibal picked up the pace of his thrusts; he kept them short and hard, the tip of his cock pressing against Will’s prostate with each one. Hannibal kept his own orgasm at bay until he felt Will fall apart underneath him. Will’s hole tightened impossibly around his length and the man below him hit the bed with a loud thunk and a satisfied sigh. It was like music to his ears, Hannibal letting the sound carry him over. He pounded into Will a handful more times before finishing, the photographer’s name hot on his lips. 

After a quick scramble to pull out and dispose of the condom before fatigue overtook him, Hannibal got them cleaned up and under the covers. Will immediately snuggled back against him, his arm reaching behind to pull on Hannibal until they were completely pressed together. Hannibal rewarded him by snuggling into Will’s neck, kissing the skin there. 

“Did you plan to seduce me?” Hannibal asked, a softness in his voice as he posed the question. He felt warm at the thought. 

“Yes,” Will replied shamelessly. “You said you were interested. I thought to test that theory.” 

Burrowing further into Will’s warm skin, Hannibal chuckled, his arm tightening around the smaller body in his arms. “Consider it tested and proven. If you give me a little while, we can start another trial.” 

With a laugh, Will relaxed a little deeper into the mattress. The haze of having Will in his arms was mellow, lulling Hannibal into an easy sleep. 

Right before he fell over the edge of fatigue, Will’s groggy voice sounded in Hannibal’s ears. 

“Your Chesapeake Ripper needs a partner.” 

Grinning at the thought, Hannibal finally allowed himself to completely rest, his chest warm with confirmation and agreement. 

A partner would be good for him and his monster both.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking around, friends! 
> 
> I took some inspiration obviously from the Wall Street Journal photo shoot as well as the Doctor Stranger promotional shoot in which he wore a gorgeous blue jacket & looked spectacular. I reblogged both outfits on my tumblr (whispersthroughthechrysalis) if you want visuals. 
> 
> Happy weekend, y'all :D


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